Terry Pratchett. Maur, the disciple of Death (№ 204881)

There must exist a word for the microscopic spark of hope that you cherish the fear, afraid to startle one recognition of the fact of its existence. It would be like to look at the photon. You can only sideways, sideways to get close to her, looking past her, passing by her and wait until she will be big enough boldly to face the world.